


The Tides of Power

by LadyAniko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, And A Healthy Dose of Trickery, Antagonistic Banter With a Dash of Sexual Tension, F/M, Inspired by Fanart, Knight Draco Malfoy, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAniko/pseuds/LadyAniko
Summary: Draco Malfoy, knight and heir to the great House Malfoy, has been given a task that his father believes is necessary for furthering Malfoy influence in the royal realm. Draco expects it to be a distasteful task, and a tedious one, but he does not expect it to be difficult.He certainly doesn’t expect the woman he is supposed to guard, one Hermione Granger, to throw everyone’s plans to chaos.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 109





	The Tides of Power

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Dramione fandom! *shyly waves*. I've been wanting to try Dramione for a while. Then I saw [ this piece by Avendell over on Tumblr](https://avendell.tumblr.com/post/636045183228706816/swordfight) and this plunny hit me hard. I would love to expand on this universe if I can eventually assemble more plot, but for now here is just a little something based on the art piece.☺️
> 
> Please, please go check out the link and find Avendell if you don’t follow them already, both on [ Tumblr](https://avendell.tumblr.com) and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/avendellart). I love their art so, so much. All of it makes me drool.

* * *

The castle—if it could even be called that—was utterly dilapidated, its sides crawling with ivy, pieces of the stone walls chipped away and crumbled. The grounds were also falling into a state of hopeless disrepair. Despite the fairly pleasant spring that had befallen the realm that year, there were no beautiful plants here; no blossoming trees, no sweet smelling flowers, and the grass, which was yet again an extremely generous term, was frayed and patched.

Draco Malfoy eyed the building and its surroundings with extreme distaste. No wonder there were no guards, no defenses to speak of here. No one in their right mind would expend effort on trying to lay siege to this place, even if it would be laughably easy. Stragetically it was positioned badly, and it was far more trouble to fix up and protect than it was worth.

“Even in the dark it’s a wretched eyesore,” Draco muttered bitterly, before pushing further up the slope.

This was by far the most demeaning thing he’d ever had to do. And the most frustrating part of it all was that his father was very vague as to _why_ he was insisting that Draco had to do it. Ever since becoming a knight Draco had mostly received tasks he found unsavory and boring.

But this?

This seemed unsavory, boring, _and_ pointless.

* * *

Nearly a week prior, Draco's knock on Lucius Malfoy’s stately, ornate study door had been answered with a lilting “Enter.”

Draco did so, immediately locating his father in his usual spot behind his desk. “Father.” Draco strode forward and nodded briefly, waiting for further instruction. His father normally only called him here when he had a task for him or to admonish him. Since Draco could not think of anything he had recently done that would have incurred his father’s wrath, he assumed he had been called here for the first option.

Lucius Malfoy did not respond at first. He didn’t even look up. He just continued scribbling on his parchment.

Draco bristled when this dragged on for at least two minutes. “You requested me?”

His father’s eyes finally darted up to look at his son. “A pity that being a knight has still not taught you proper patience.”

Draco had to fight to keep his hands from curling into fists at his sides, but his tone still came out curt. “Apologies, Father.”

Lucius went back to writing. Finally, after another long five minutes, he set down his quill, pushed the parchment aside, and looked up again, folding his hands serenely on his desk as he observed his son before him. “Now…I have a task for you, Draco.”

 _No shit_ , Draco thought, but his face remained carefully neutral.

“Oh?” was his much more appropriate response.

“Yes.” Lucius eyed him another moment, raising a slow eyebrow.

The Malfoys were related to the Blacks, the highest royalty of the realm; but only as cousins, and through the female line. And to make matters worse it was through the youngest female: Draco’s mother, Narcissa. As such they did not have nearly as much sway in the royal court as Lucius Malfoy would have liked. And it was only sway that his father really wanted, only influence. He had told Draco since he was a young boy—over and over, his most oft-repeated words—that aspiring for the throne was for fools. A throne meant stress and a gigantic target on your back. No—it was better to aim for influence just beside the throne.

Influence is power without the risks, and it is influence, his father insisted, that has made the Malfoy name thrive all these years.

And in his quest for influence, Lucius had always been cunning.

After Draco had been knighted it had always been a careful, calculated dance; choosing which missions to take on. Knowing who, exactly, to please or gain favor from at any given point.

“Who am I serving? Besides you, Father.” Draco inclined his head. If he was respectful enough his father was more prone to sharing details.

“A descendant of the House of Gaunt.” Lucius’ gray eyes were bright. “A once-great House previously thought to have withered away.”

Draco had never heard of that name. He frowned. He was failing to see how this furthered the Malfoy agenda. “Why?”

“Sometimes,” said Lucius, “The tides of power shift, Draco. Those who seek to maintain a proper position must be keen enough to see such trends early.” He rose to his feet and came around the desk to stand before his son; Lucius reached out, touching the pendant with the Malfoy family crest that clasped Draco’s cloak at his throat, his fingers carefully tracing the engraved M and the carved dragons flanking the side.

A task for a feeble, low-ranking House that Draco had never heard of was the last thing he wanted to do, nor did he see how it would help anything, but Draco still kept his feelings off his face. “What must I do?” he asked slowly.

His father’s eyes snapped up to his. “Do you know House Crouch?”

That name actually did ring a faint bell. Draco pursed his lips as he thought. “Have they not fallen into disgrace?”

“That’s the one.” Lucius appeared satisfied that Draco knew the name. “The lady of the House passed away a few years ago. Bartemius lives there with his only son. Unfortunately, there are rumors that his heir is not quite right in the head. Bartemius has kept him on careful house arrest ever since his wife has been gone. However, the last few times Bartemius has been able to appear at the royal court he, too, has appeared quite ill.”

“And?” Draco could not contain his displeasure now.

He could already sense, by the way his father was speaking, that he’d have to see these people.

“The Crouches have found a woman,” said Lucius. “A young maiden. They have secretly pledged their allegiance to the new master of the recently revived House of Gaunt, who has apparently taken a great interest in having her. Bartemius wrote to me imploring that I send you to escort her. So really it is House Gaunt that we are serving with this task.” Lucius looked suddenly stern. “But this all must remain carefully secret, Draco.”

“And why,” said Draco, his irritation rising, “Am I delivering a woman to some old has-been House that no one has ever even heard of?”

“I think,” said Lucius, smiling slightly. “That once you meet the new master of House Gaunt for yourself, you will understand.”

Draco gave his father a dubious look. “What is his name?”

“Tom Riddle,” said Lucius. “And do not upset him, Draco. Respect him exactly as you do me.”

And with that he waved a hand toward the exit, dismissing his son, leaving Draco with almost more questions than answers and a still growing sense of frustration. But Draco knew better than to argue with his father. So he gave him a brusque nod and swept out of the study to begin making preparations for his impending travels to House Crouch and, eventually, the House of Gaunt.

* * *

It took quite a while for someone to answer the door after Draco stepped forward to knock on it, the sound reverberating rather depressingly through the lifeless grounds.

When it finally did swing open Draco blinked. It was a young man standing in the doorway, closer to Draco’s own age rather than his father’s as he had been initially expecting; the man’s eyes were slightly bulging and had a wild glint in them. Draco knew who this was. “You must be Barty Crouch Jr.,” he drawled, bowing as little as he possibly could to still be considered polite. “I was requested by your father.”

“He’s bedridden.” Bartemius’ son’s voice was hoarse. His eyes darted about in a way that Draco didn’t like at all, and he was constantly fidgeting. No wonder his father didn’t want him out and about. He gave off a very distinct air of volatile instability.

Slowly, inconspicuously, Draco’s hand drifted nearer to his sword handle. Just in case. “I see…then I suppose you will be the one to show me the woman I am to accompany?”

Barty Jr. waved his hand for Draco to follow him. Draco did so, his fingers now curling around his sword as he was led inside, his eyes carefully scanning the dimly lit hall they had entered. It was just as joyless as the grounds, perhaps more so, but there was nothing that Draco could determine posited a serious threat. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was incredibly off about this entire situation.

The castle—again, it felt like a pitiful lie to call it one—was only three stories high. Draco was led up two flights of stairs and down multiple corridors before Barty suddenly stopped without warning in the middle of a corridor. Draco followed his lead, immediately quelling the echoing sounds of their boots on the marble floors. “She’s just through there.” Barty was pointing to the end, where Draco could faintly see that the corridor opened onto an open-air balcony. “Tomorrow at dawn you depart. You will bring her safely to our lord. She will show you to your room and see to it that you are fed for the evening.”

Draco gnashed his teeth together at receiving orders from this man but he just nodded briefly, though his gray eyes flashed.

Barty Jr. turned without another word and wandered back down the corridor. Draco watched him go, still not entirely trusting that he wouldn’t turn and start attacking Draco seemingly for no reason. Only when his footsteps had long disappeared did Draco turn back toward the balcony.

Draco crept forward, pausing in the archway.

The balcony was quite small, but still larger than Draco had expected. The pillars and railing were surprisingly intact, and beyond them stretched the night sky, the half moon bright and the stars glittering. It was actually a nice view considering the state of the place.

Directly in the middle stood the young woman, dressed in a simple gown with a large, rounded skirt, tied carefully with a sash that looped into a bow at her waist. Her hair cascaded down her back—it was long, brown, and bushy. Draco had been trying to approach stealthily but she must have had very good ears, because she suddenly spoke. “I assume you are the oh-so-brave knight that has come to escort me.”

There was something slightly mocking in her tone that gave Draco pause; his footsteps actually stopped.

The woman turned to face him, one eyebrow raised.

Draco’s first impression was that she was quite plain. Not incredibly beautiful, not homely—just regular facial features framed by chaotic curls.

As he started to move closer, however, it was her eyes that really drew him in. They were a deep shade of honey-brown, but more poignant than that was the curious little spark in them. There could be no doubt, looking into the eyes of this woman, that she was sharply intelligent. It was almost unnerving. She was looking at him as though she knew his entire life story and was somehow planning to use it against him.

Draco cleared his throat and immediately resented it. It was a graceless, nervous thing to do, and Draco Malfoy never showed signs of gracelessness, nor did he particularly enjoy appearing nervous. “That’s me,” he replied in a cool, lilting drawl very like his father’s distant one. “Draco Malfoy at your service, my lady.” He bowed low.

“Don’t act as if you are here to help me,” she said very severely, and Draco rose his head, blinking in shock at her unabashedly sharp tongue. “If it were my services you cared about then you certainly would not be taking me to Lord Tom Riddle against my will.”

Draco blinked a few more times. “Uh…”

She appeared deeply satisfied that she had rendered him momentarily speechless. “I’m Hermione Granger,” she said. “Not that you asked.”

A ripple of irritation made Draco’s mouth curl into a sneer. “I’ve never heard that name,” he said, pointedly.

“Hermione is a very rare name.” Her eyes glinted, and Draco’s sneer grew more pronounced. Cheeky little wench.

“Your last name,” he said. “As you very well know. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t heard of _Lord_ Riddle either.” He couldn’t stop the hint of derision that twisted itself around the word ‘Lord.’

To Draco’s surprise, the woman called Hermione Granger just smiled, her eyes glinting brighter still.

She stepped toward him until she was standing right before him, her eyes dragging up and down his tall figure, lingering extra long on the family crest nestled near his throat, on his broad chest, and then, finally, on the swords in their sheaths fastened to his hip. “It’s all about family names and crests with people like you, isn’t it?”

Draco stiffened. “Not just.”

“Oh?” Her lips curved into a taunting smile and her eyes dipped to his sword again, briefly, before she met his stare. There was a burning light in her eyes now, something intriguing lurking in the depths of her gaze. “Tell me, for I am quite curious—who fashioned your blade?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned. She made no sense. Was he supposed to believe she had deep knowledge of blades or forgery? Then again, those eyes gave him the feeling she had a deep knowledge of nearly everything. He tried to shake off his discomfort from her intent stare. There was nothing he wanted less than for her to know the effect she was having on him. “My father had it made for me when I was knighted.”

The intense light in her eyes faded; something like disappointment flashed across her features. “I see,” was all she said, and Draco could not help but feel that he had given her the wrong answer, somehow.

Then—

“May I hold it?” She was extending a hand, her face now the perfect image of curious innocence.

Draco hesitated. This woman, this Hermione Granger—something about her felt dangerous. Handing over his sword seemed like a spectacularly bad idea for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate to himself, because she couldn’t weigh more than nine stone soaking wet and was physically non-threatening.

Then again, if he didn’t hand it over he would essentially be admitting to her that he was wary of her, which he was far too proud to do.

Of course there was no reason to be wary of this woman. This nobody.

He’d be glad to be rid of her, at any rate.

So Draco plastered a condescending smirk on his face. “Why of course, fair lady.” He unsheathed it and held it out. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”

Her small hand wrapped around the handle and the sword’s edge clattered against the ground as the full weight of it was transferred to her arm. She stumbled slightly, and Draco’s smirk widened.

And then, without warning, she jerked the sword up and the tip of it was at his neck, nestled right underneath the angle of his jaw.

Her arm trembled with the effort of holding it up, but she still managed it. And she just glared at Draco, eyes blazing. “The wisest thing you can do is to not underestimate me, Draco Malfoy,” she warned, her voice low and dripping with malice. “Nor should you underestimate Tom Riddle.” She pressed harder into his neck; Draco knew that she was drawing a few droplets of blood but refused to show alarm.

“It would be quite nice,” he snapped. “If you removed my own blade from my throat, Lady Granger.”

Her answering grin was smug and infuriating, but she lowered the sword and held out the handle for him to grasp. He sheathed it sharply, his eyes narrowed at her. “Now,” he said, “I’ve had a long journey and we have a longer one ahead of us. Might you show me to my room and make sure I am fed?”

For a moment, he thought she might actually refuse given the way that her eyes had flashed dangerously.

She was going to have a real rough time of it once she was taken to the lord that was attempting to claim her. In Draco’s experience it was the small, unimportant or unheard of lords that were cruelest to their wives or servants. Making up for their lack in status, most likely.

Why this Tom Riddle had interest in this shrill little woman was beyond him.

Draco felt another wave of irritation, this time aimed at his father.

But then her eyes cooled, and Hermione Granger just was looking at him again—though calculatingly. Always calculating. “Of course,” she said finally, in a far too honeyed voice. “Right this way, brave knight.”

And with that she began sweeping quickly off the balcony, giving Draco no choice but to trail after her.

* * *

The sheets smelled musty and the room had a terrible draft, but Draco slept surprisingly well, likely due to his exhaustion from his trip.

He was awake at dawn, preparing the saddle bags and his other gear, and noted with distinct bitterness that it had begun to drizzle rain. He had hoped for at least a few days of clear weather. Their destination was due north, and it was only going to get colder and wetter as he and the Lady Hermione Granger— _insufferable little harpy_ , he thought, venomously—went about their travels.

It was again Barty Jr. that saw them off, and what struck Draco most about the interaction was how Hermione Granger barely looked at him, and visibly stiffened at the man’s close proximity when he helped her slip on her warm cloak before Draco led Hermione carefully out toward the stables, where Draco’s steed awaited. They would only have one, so it would be slow going; which, of course, only added to Draco’s sense of ire about the whole thing. The Crouches apparently had none they could offer for the Lady Granger, their precious cargo.

He helped her up though he also noted that she did not seem to like his touch, either. She seemed on the verge of pushing him away.

Draco took the reins and led the horse out and onto the road without a word. She pulled up the hood on her red cloak and didn’t speak either.

They had been moving along in silence for a few long, painful moments when Draco finally spoke. “Did that man harm you?”

Her head turned to stare down at him. Draco could not read exactly what was in her gaze. “Of course not,” she snapped finally. And then she glanced quickly back over her shoulder, back toward the decaying building.

Draco wasn’t quite sure he believed her. The man was, after all, unhinged, and many men harmed the women they captured.

“Well,” he said, standing up a little taller, “Though it’s clear we won’t be having a pleasant journey together, I do take my job very seriously. No harm will come to you when you are with me, Lady Granger.”

There was a long, tense silence. “Oh yes?” Her tone was soft, but somehow the most threatening one she’d had so far. It made a shiver run up Draco’s spine, and he felt a sudden, bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “Yes, how very honorable you are,” she continued, her brown eyes sparking at him, “Making sure that Tom Riddle’s prize is well delivered. How lucky I should feel.”

“I—”

“And what do you think,” she went on, her voice getting louder, “will happen once I arrive? Do you think I will remain unharmed _then_?”

Something very much like guilt suddenly clawed in Draco’s chest. It wasn’t an entirely new feeling in his life, but it was quite a rare one. He wasn’t very fond of it, especially when it was over someone like her. “Well I—” he stuttered, but she didn’t let him get more out.

“But _thank_ _you_ ,” she spat, bitingly sarcastic, “That there’s enough human in there to keep your protection contract until we arrive.”

Draco found he had no idea what to say. He also didn’t miss her repeated glances over her shoulder as House Crouch began fading from view.

“What’s so interesting?” he asked her finally, when she had done it so many times it was making him apprehensive. Or perhaps it was the look of concentration she held, the sudden determination in her eyes that unnerved him. “You can’t tell me you’ll actually miss that wretched place?”

“Oh no,” she said lightly, a triumph blazing to life on her features. “I was just waiting for the territorial enchantments to be weakened.”

Draco blinked. “Wha—”

Before he could react, she had raised her hand and a beam of white light shot from her fingertips. Draco felt it collide with his chest; he was blown backward, off his feet, flying to land roughly in the ditch beside the road. He groaned out in pain and was wheezing, the wind knocked out of him, but still he scrambled back to his feet, relying on pure instinct and his training, which had yet to fail him until now.

Then again he’d never met a—she was a—but that couldn’t be, that was impossible—

She was standing over him with a calm smile and he hurriedly grasped for one of his swords, wanting to draw it out, intending to subdue her.

But as he drew it and made to advance he found that he couldn’t swing, couldn’t attempt to capture her.

The muscles in his arms seized up and froze, and the sword fell to the ground with a clatter. “What have you—what did you do to me?” Draco gasped, his arms having spasms now.

“You are trying to capture me,” she said knowingly.

“Of course I am!” Draco spat, stumbling out of the ditch and falling to his knees as his fingers continued to twitch. “You’re a—a—”

“Witch?” supplied Hermione Granger. “Sorceress? Mage? Yes, that’s very true, guilty on all charges." She laughed. He wished it wouldn't be such a charming laugh. "They thought their enchantments would hold until they got me to Tom, I suppose.” She was speaking more to herself now. “How very wrong they were. Sometimes playing weak does pay off, you know.”

Draco looked up from his vibrating arms and into her face. “ _What did you do to me_?” he snarled.

“Nothing so insidious as you probably assume. I only held you to your word, Draco Malfoy,” she said. She appeared very amused now. “You said that you were at my service and that I was under your protection. Now I just made your word a little more, shall we say… _binding_.” Her smile widened. “You are now incapable of harming me or betraying me. You are magically bound to me.” She took a step forward and then crouched down so that she was at eye level with him. “And I’m so honored,” she continued, mouth twitching, “To have such a brave, loyal knight now in my service.”

Draco’s face twisted in fury. “ _You_ —”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, “Treat you badly, that I assure you. I just need your help.”

Draco eyed her dubiously. “With what? Why should I trust a witch?”

“Well, you really have no choice but to trust me now, do you?” She shrugged and straightened up. Draco found that his arms had stopped their relentless twitching and he, too, slowly rose to his feet, staring down at her. “As for what I need help with…well, you’ll find out in due course. But you certainly won’t be delivering me to Tom Riddle anymore.”

As they looked at each other, she suddenly smiled at him.

Draco was torn between awe, fear, and a desire to strangle her.

He’d have to find a way out of this somehow. His father was going to murder him, assuming that Draco made it back to him in one piece. In the meantime, however, he was stuck with her. Stuck _serving_ her.

Well, he thought dryly, at least he could no longer say that all his knightly tasks have been boring.


End file.
